From the Shores of Mount Pelion
by ofsaltandsea
Summary: Chiron had spent years molding heroes to meet their destinies, to save the world and survive whatever plagues it, great or small. It had been ages since he had trained a hero such as this boy. A look at Chiron, over the years.


Disclaimer: PJO isn't mine and _Full Fathom Five _is from Shakespeare's play _The Tempest _(1,ii)

Note: Mount Pelion is the home of Chiron in the myths, and where he once trained heroes.

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**From the Shores of Mount Pelion**

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_Full fathom five thy father lies;_

It was early morning on a late spring day when Chiron was drawn down to the beach.

He had been quietly sipping his coffee, listening to the soothing sound of Frank Sinatra (which so many of his campers these days had little appreciation for), and sifting through paperwork and reading reports from various satyrs. In the distance outside of the camp's borders, a fog had settled over Long Island Sound. Through the gray light he could just make out a figure, one he had not truly expected to ever see here at the camp. This was a rare visit.

Quickly Chiron shed his wheelchair and galloped down to the beach. He may not have been summoned, but one does not ignore a god on his doorstep. Chiron slowed to a trot as he reached the sand, and carefully made his way over to the god.

Standing in the chill surf was Poseidon, god of the sea, his hands in the pockets of his baggy shorts. He was facing away from Chiron, eyes fixed somewhere on the fogbound horizon. Chiron approached him slowly through the sand until he was only a few feet away from the pensive god.

"Ah, Chiron. I hoped you would come out here."

Poseidon turned towards him, eyes devoid of their usual twinkle. Chiron glanced at the surf, green-gray and sluggish, gently lapping around Poseidon's sandals. What sort of mood had left this god in the doldrums?

"How are you, Chiron?"

Chiron sent a sidelong glance at Poseidon, who was gazing out across his realm once more. Small talk was not something any of them were particularly skilled at, and Poseidon in particular, though often cryptic, was never one for it.

"Well enough, thank you," he replied.

Then Chiron waited. He was sure there was purpose to this visit, though whatever it was, Poseidon seemed content to keep it to himself a few moments more. It roused his curiosity, though. This was not a side of this god that Chiron could say he had seen before. Poseidon, like all the gods, had changed as the seat of Western Civilization had moved through countries and ages. Where he was once known as one of the most temperamental of the lot, he had mellowed in the past centuries. Whatever could have happened to bring him to the shores of camp to speak to Chiron? It was puzzling, and he often chided his campers for this exact sort of curiosity – it had gotten more than one of them killed.

Chiron turned his head to find green eyes steadily gazing at him. Poseidon was fiddling with something he had pulled out of the pocket of his shorts.

"I would like to ask for a favor."

He held out a ballpoint pen to Chiron. It wasn't anything especially remarkable, but the Mist was clearly at work for this object. Furthermore, Chiron thought he might know what it was. He reached out and slowly turned over the pen in his hands.

Poseidon watched his hands for a moment, face unreadable. His green eyes had darkened, and Chiron could only guess at the tempest brewing behind his expression. This favor carried more weight than what was on the surface.

"It is the sword Riptide, exactly as you've no doubt guessed, Chiron. Would you hold on to it for me?" He paused for a moment, and glanced at Chiron. "There will come a day," Poseidon said carefully, "where a young hero will have need of it, though not as soon as I thought. And I think you should hold onto it, at least until the time is right."

"I see," Chiron muttered.

There were…possibilities in that statement. Many that he had no desire to think too deeply upon, given the massive implications. If this young camper was indeed a child of Poseidon, there was a great chance of the poor child being the subject of the great prophecy. Whether the child was the one of the prophecy or not, he or she would certainly make waves. Chiron would keep this warning to himself for the time being, even as he reeled from it. He nearly felt weak in his fetlocks.

Poseidon had shifted his gaze back to the Sound before them as Chiron quickly composed himself. He needed more information.

"This future young camper," he began slowly, watching Poseidon. "You had thought the child would be arriving here this summer?"

"Yes, but his mother is an extraordinarily resourceful woman," Poseidon replied, absentminded. His thoughts were quite obviously on the child in question.

"So can I expect the child next summer?"

Poseidon considered for a moment.

"Perhaps not for several years. Keep an eye out, if you can, Chiron."

With those parting words, Poseidon disappeared in a sea breeze. Chiron remained on the shore for a long time, watching the surf.

_Of his bones are coral made;_

All of Mount Olympus was in an uproar.

Chiron shifted slightly in his wheelchair, sure that his fetlocks had fallen asleep sometime in the hours he had been up here. Normally he avoided coming up to Olympus when he could, but the current situation had called for his presence.

Any prophesy that foretold the possible razing of Olympus was bound to cause an upset.

Chiron heaved a quiet sigh as he watched the Olympian council before him. It had only been a mere handful of hours since the poor child had been turned into a tree on the camp's borders. Surely, given her fate, the prophecy did not need to be immediately addressed like this.

And yet, Chiron understood their clamor. If there was one, there was a high possibility of there being more demigod children of the three brothers. All three of them temperamental and possessing very little in the way of self-restraint, it was truly a wonder that their pact had lasted for so many decades, no matter how much the world and they may have changed.

Dionysus had, rather predictably, looked up for a brief moment from a brochure for a new winery in Sonoma to propose turning _all _the young half-bloods into shrubbery. This was rather too soon for Zeus. The flippant comment had incited Athena, his ever-faithful daughter, to anger. She was in the middle of what would properly be called a tirade against an inattentive Dionysus while Chiron let his attention wander. Really, there was no reason for him being here – he was merely the activities director of the camp for the moment, and had little say in matters on Olympus. He had already recounted events as he saw them, and could have left hours ago.

There was one god, however, who had been strangely silent throughout all the proceedings. Poseidon, who had sat upon his throne, had left his trident in its holder and had not raised his voice once in the long hours since the girl's tragic end on the camp's borders. With a start, Chiron remembered a conversation, only a few years before. Poseidon had all but confirmed it at the time, but in the intervening years and with no appearance of the boy at camp, it had nearly slipped into the depths of his mind.

Now, that conversation was all he could think about.

Somewhere there was a young boy with the fate of Olympus on his shoulders, completely unaware of what was waiting for him. It was no wonder that Poseidon sat grim and somber on his throne – he must be imagining his son in his niece's place, pursued by the worst of the Underworld his gloomy brother could send in his anger and spite. And to know, when his son's existence was discovered, that they would once more be here in the throne room and have a similar argument that would be far worse – it must be difficult to bear.

Chiron felt as if something insidious and small had burrowed deep into his bones, making them brittle and weak. It was the sure knowledge that the prophecy was coming to pass, in years and not decades. The horrible fate of this daughter of Zeus was merely a pause, a respite. And Poseidon seemed to feel it just as deeply in his bones as Chiron, and perhaps more so than he did. It would be his first mortal son in decades, and the boy's chances of surviving would be slimmer than any of his siblings before him.

Poseidon had sunk into his throne, hands gripping the armrests; not out of anger, as many might guess at first glance, but out of terrible certainty. Just as one could not hold back the tide for long, one could not escape a prophecy, especially one such as this.

He looked up, straight at Chiron as if he knew exactly what was in his thoughts.

Poseidon's face was bleak as he nodded at Chiron. _Yes, _he seemed to say,_ it is everything you ever suspected, and it will only be worse now._

What compassion would Zeus give a son of Poseidon, when his own daughter had been taken from him? And what would Hades send in his anger, at another breach of a sacred oath?

Wherever this child was, Chiron hoped he would last a little longer on his own.

_Those are pearls that were his eyes;_

Chiron had been enjoying the relatively calm atmosphere a new school year brought over the camp. It had been exactly three days since Grover had begun his new assignment and second chance at Yancy Academy when he had called Chiron in a highly agitated state.

"Chiron, sir!" Grover cried. "I think I've found one, a powerful one, his aura is – well I don't know how he wasn't found before!"

That awful feeling in Chiron's bones returned in full force.

"And this boy…how old is he, Grover?"

Grover started, looking furtively behind him as the pipes Chiron could just see through the mist clunked to life in the bathroom.

"He just turned twelve, just a couple of weeks ago. Chiron, I don't know what to do. Should I bring him in now?"

"No. I believe I shall be making a house call."

It had been rather simple to replace the current Latin teacher at the academy. Now, he was waiting for his second period class to arrive, in which would be the half-blood in question. He had just finished setting up the classroom with a few things he'd brought from the armory and storage sheds. He had found, more often than not, that it was a nice way to ease demigods into the world by familiarizing them with the weapons as well as keep things interesting for him and the class.

And the results showed for themselves. There were rather loud exclamations of surprise as the first students began filtering in through the door. Chiron did not look up from his papers until the late bell rang. His gaze swept over the sea of sixth graders, careful not to linger on any of them long. He was almost nervous.

Chiron proceeded to call roll, and very nearly started when he saw the next name on his list:

"_Perseus _Jackson?"

His eyes just caught the grimace of one of the boys by the classroom window.

"Percy."

Chiron noted it, and absentmindedly went through the rest of the roll. All the while, he had to restrain himself from watching the boy. With his wind-swept hair and sea green eyes, there was little doubt about the identity of his father, and certainly no hiding it from Chiron.

Chiron was not sure what to make of him, this young hero of the prophecy. The Fates had marked the boy, though he hardly looked it at the moment. He was, essentially, a good child aside from the usual demigod troubles and the sort of shenanigans typical of twelve-year-old boys.

But he was no hero, at least not yet. Not what he would need to be.

Chiron had spent years molding heroes to meet their destinies, to save the world and survive whatever plagued it, great or small. Many of those heroes he had raised from infancy within sight of Olympus from the shores of Mount Pelion. He had trained each one as they had found their way to him, a surrogate father and trainer when the young heroes needed one most.

It had been long ages since he had trained a hero such as this young boy, with the fate of Olympus in his hands, and longer still that he had trained a son of the Big Three who had so little of their arrogance and a great deal of compassion. He would need more training and more guidance than any child currently at camp, but all Chiron wanted to give him was time. To remain ignorant, just a little longer of the burden being a forbidden son would bring him.

He watched Percy's sea green eyes, so like Poseidon's, struggle to focus on the blackboard. He would wait, Chiron decided. It was, perhaps, delaying the inevitable, but a few more months could do the boy no harm.

_Nothing of him that does fade,_

Chiron had failed to give him more time.

He had expected Grover and Percy to cross the camp borders hours ago. When Grover had messaged him from the bus terminal bathroom to say Percy had seen the Fates, Chiron had felt all of his careful plans for Percy unravel in a moment. All of his attempts to keep the boy unaware and out of the conflict brewing on Olympus were dashed.

He was not at all surprised. Percy's nature was as changeable as his father's; the more Chiron had tried to protect him, the more determined he seemed to see what was really going on, if the last month of school was any indication. There was no hope of easing the boy into this world now – he would dive head-first into what Chiron could only hope would not turn into World War III.

He set his third cup of coffee down and glanced once more out the window to Half-Blood Hill. Just past the camp's borders he could see what was shaping up to be a truly spectacular storm. While this had become an ongoing occurrence since the Winter Solstice, the clouds looked particularly foreboding tonight. He worried for Percy's safety.

"You're expecting someone, aren't you Chiron?" Annabeth's eager voice broke the silence.

Chiron had nearly forgotten she was there.

"Perhaps, child."

"Is it him?" She asked expectantly. "The one you said I had to wait for, to go on a quest with?"

Chiron did not answer. Some days he quite regretted telling her about the prophecy he'd had about her, but it was difficult not to indulge her.

Annabeth had been so very young when she arrived at camp. Chiron had immediately taken the precocious child under his care. Far too clever for her age and with no one to play with, Chiron had often let her keep him company at the Big House; she would sit, just as she was tonight, reading her books for hours. It was far past curfew now, however, and he ought to send her back to her cabin.

And yet, he reflected, it was almost as if she _knew_. For some inexplicable reason, the Fates had tied this daughter of Athena to the son of Poseidon. Her prophecy had been fairly straightforward: Annabeth would have to wait for a special demigod's arrival before she could embark on the quest she so desperately wished for. It was very clear who that special half-blood would be, and Chiron almost wondered if it was not some sort of pointed remark to the children's Olympian parents. With the great prophecy on the horizon, now would be the time to set aside old grudges and unite; their children cooperating would be an excellent starting point.

It could not be a coincidence that Annabeth was here waiting, the very night he expected Percy to arrive. It worried him, for both their sakes. Chiron had tried, over the centuries, not to get overly attached to the children he taught. It was too depressing, too heartbreaking.

But these two children had effortlessly settled into place in his heart. Whatever great and terrible destiny awaited them, he would make sure they rose to the challenge.

A brilliant flash of lightning lit up the living room. Annabeth set down her book and peered out the dark window.

"I knew it!" She exclaimed. "There's someone out there!"

She wheeled around the couch and burst out of the living room, feet pounding towards the front door of the Big House with Chiron right behind her. Annabeth skidded to a halt in front of the door and wrenched it open. She stopped in the doorway, looking down at the porch.

Collapsed on the porch was the rain-sodden and injured form of the young Percy Jackson, one hand firmly clenched onto Grover's soaked shirt. From the indentions in the grass, he had managed to drag the unconscious satyr down the hill before exhaustion hit.

Dazed and pained green eyes stared up at him. Chiron could almost swear he felt destiny being set in motion in that moment.

_But doth suffer a sea-change_

It had been difficult to leave them.

He had almost been expecting it, however. Knew it would happen, as soon as Thalia's tree had been poisoned. It was almost better this way – at least Olympus recognized that there was a threat now.

But Chiron had never felt so helpless. Dread had settled firmly in his stomach when he was surrounded by his younger, careless brethren and got the message from Percy and Annabeth that they had left camp – after he had expressly told them not to, and aided by Hermes no less.

It seemed the gods were willing to acknowledge that Kronos was back, at the expense of setting two children on the path to preventing it.

Chiron had an awful suspicion that his own actions had set them on that path. He had made Annabeth swear on the Styx to protect Percy, and had made them both promise not to leave camp when they had both appeared exactly when he did not want them there – would that have been enough to set the events of the past several days in motion? Or had everything been set in motion the minute Percy had appeared last summer, or yet when the master bolt was stolen?

Whatever the event, one thing was clear: the small piece of information Annabeth had given Percy about the prophecy was enough to change him.

Chiron could already see it. He had trained so many heroes, so many of them burdened with the sort of destinies and prophecies that had made their names immortal, that Chiron could see the weight of that knowledge in their eyes.

It was almost worse with Percy, however. Yes, the boy had grown a little older and certainly a little taller. Soon he would be all elbows and knees. But he had still been very much a boy – maybe not as carefree as other boys his age, but certainly no worse for a demigod. For the brief moment he had seen him before he left camp, Chiron had seen a boy that had not only survived but excelled; Percy was shaping up to be the exact hero they would need, if the worst happened, given more time and training. But that was without knowing that the prophecy that had only been mentioned in the vaguest of ways had a deadline.

Try as he might, he could not be angry with Annabeth for telling him. He understood her reasons. As his friend, it must have seemed wrong not to warn him, not about something so important. It was why he had made her swear, after all; where he could not guide Percy, Annabeth surely would out of friendship. They had grown close, much closer than he had ever thought possible for a child of Athena and a child of Poseidon.

The Fates, Chiron was sure, had a hand in this; as Athena had once aided the first Perseus, so her daughter would aide Percy. The circumstances may have been very different, but that hardly mattered. He would need her help.

The entire episode on the _Princess_ _Andromeda _had confirmed some fears that Chiron had harbored since the end of the last summer. Prophecies were such fickle things, and the Great Prophecy was no exception. And yet, one thing was very clear to Chiron – Luke, Percy, and Annabeth were involved.

_ Into something rich and strange._

When Thalia had appeared, weak and barely conscious beside her tree, Chiron had not known what to think. It was immediately apparent what Luke's motivation had been, however. By bringing forth another contender for the prophecy, Luke probably hoped to push and manipulate one or both of them into changing sides. This was greatly concerning, and yet all Chiron had felt was a strange sense of relief.

There was a chance the prophecy child would no longer be Percy.

It was not that Chiron did not think the child was capable – Percy was just not quite ready yet. Percy and Thalia both had everything a child of the Big Three saddled with such a prophecy would need: tremendous power and the leadership qualities expected of such children. Only, therein lay the difference between them – Thalia was, perhaps, overconfident in her abilities, and Percy not enough. It shamed him to wish the prophecy on the girl, especially after everything she had been through, but it would work better for everyone.

Maybe it was a rather awful thought, wishing to foist the prophecy onto another child, but Chiron could not help it. Percy still had far to go before he was ready, and though he had years left to prepare him, they would fly by. There was no guarantee he would be ready, even then. He could only train them both, and hope the prophecy would keep a little longer. It was a hard enough task, but Percy and Thalia did not make it any easier.

Tension had hung between the two since Thalia had woken up in the infirmary and been brought up to speed on the years she had missed. The girl had handled it all remarkably well, but she was still adjusting. Percy and Thalia seemed to accept each other, but could not accept sharing Annabeth. And the tension had only gotten worse when Annabeth had gone missing.

And now here Percy sat before him, looking a little older and a little wiser than he did before he slipped out of camp on a quest Chiron had _thought_ he had no business going on. Chiron had been very wrong about that.

He was also, Chiron noted, a little greyer. Both Percy and Annabeth had streaks of grey in their hair now, no doubt from holding the world literally on their shoulders. They were far too young to have such an experience. And yet, time was no longer on his side, if it had ever been. He could no longer shield them from what was coming – war would soon be upon them, and he would have to prepare all his campers for it.

Chiron could see this knowledge in their eyes as they finished recounting all that had happened. Thalia had delayed the prophecy, and gained a new sense of purpose and peace for herself as the newly appointed lieutenant of Artemis. While he was happy for the girl, she had sealed Percy's fate.

And Percy knew it.

It was the sort of knowledge that could weigh heavier on the mind than even the weight of the sky. And yet, it would seem Percy was willing to rise to the challenge, to accept his role. He was not quite ready, but the day was coming when he would be, and far sooner than Chiron had first estimated.

Young Nico's abrupt entrance momentarily distracted them all, until Chiron caught a strange flicker in Percy's eyes as he got up to tell the child about his sister's fate. There was a grim sort of determination in that green stare, more so when he came back without Nico. Something had happened, and there was something more going on here that Percy had not yet told him. Young men would have their secrets; and indeed, Chiron realized, Percy _was _a young man now.

Chiron had his own suspicions about Nico. One day Percy would confirm them, and in the meantime, Chiron would be proud of him. It took a remarkable hero to choose to be the subject of a prophecy, after all.

_Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:_

Until Annabeth had rushed up the porch steps, Chiron had began to think all was lost. The gods were tiring in their fight against Typhon, and Percy had disappeared. The last anyone could remember seeing him was hours ago when he had vanished into the woods with Mrs. O'Leary.

Annabeth's frantic expression filled him with dread. The past few days had been nothing but stressful – from minor complaints exploding between cabins and the uncertain outcome to blow up the _Princess_ _Andromeda_, Chiron could not bear any more bad news.

For one awful moment, he considered the possibility that Percy had panicked.

It would not have been at all in character for the boy he had met, and the hero he had shaped over the years, but it was a perilous thought that plagued him in the hours that followed the discovery. He must have hid himself away somewhere to digest the prophecy.

They had waited too long to tell him.

Chiron himself had wished to keep Percy in the dark about the prophecy's exact wording for as long as possible, but that was when he was much younger. Now it was nothing but dangerous folly to have left it so long, not when Percy's birthday was just days away. Chiron had petitioned for the council to warn Percy; the young man had asked about it several times over the years, and while Chiron had no desire to burden him, telling him now might have done more harm than good.

As his few, brave campers armed themselves and piled into the camp's vans, Chiron struggled to keep his sorrow at bay. This, he knew, would be the last time he would see many of them. He had sent more heroes into battle and on quests than he was comfortable thinking about, and it never got any easier.

Fierce affection rose within him at their bravery, and he listened quietly as his heroes speculated around him. Percy had called them to the base of Mount Olympus, and Chiron knew why. He would make a stand, and these heroes would stand with him. Chiron had never felt so proud.

He had watched so many of them grow to be the heroes they were today; the odds were against them, their allies were few, they had already lost friends and siblings in this war, and some of their number refused to fight. But they would still follow where Percy led.

Truly, he had become both a leader and a hero. In spite of the lengths Chiron had taken to give him more time, to shield him from this moment, Percy had come into his own. Chiron may have led his campers into battle last summer, but he would not need to now; Percy was as ready as he would ever be. The young man before him would succeed in saving Olympus, Chiron was certain. He had never trained a hero like him; if that young man could beat the odds so far, in spite of everything, he might even be capable of beating his prophecy.

Now, all Chiron could do was help their cause by gathering allies. His heroes were in need of all the help he could get them. As he left them, he pushed away all his sorrow – they were alive now, and he needed help to keep them that way.

_Ding dong. / Hark! now I hear them – Ding dong, bell._

It was a late summer day, and a breeze off the sea swept through the valley. With it Chiron could hear peels of laughter and the ring of hammers as his campers and Cyclopes and even a few skeletons worked to build the new cabins.

He sipped his coffee and sighed. New campers were flooding across the camp's borders every day, and had doubled his paperwork within the last two weeks. He had just finished sorting out who would be staying for the year, and was in need of a break. But Chiron hardly begrudged the work; it was a sign of change for the better, and it filled him with contentment.

It was late afternoon, and in a matter of hours would be the last campfire of summer session and the bead ceremony. Tomorrow his summer campers would slip past the borders out into the mortal world. He would worry about them, as he always did, but he would be considerably less worried than the past school year and many before that.

Chiron rolled out to the porch and pulled out of his wheelchair. His leg was still on the mend, but healing well. He shook out his limbs and watched as the future Iris cabin's foundation was made.

"You've wasted no time on getting those cabins up," a voice remarked.

Chiron was very surprised to see him.

"Lord Poseidon," he greeted. "Yes, the campers were understandably eager to start construction. I must say I was as well, with all the new arrivals we've gotten every day."

"We've seen a lot of changes in our world lately, haven't we?"

"In great part thanks to your son," Chiron nodded.

Poseidon smiled. "Yes. I'm sure the campers and many to come will thank him. And I owe you a thank you, Chiron."

"Pardon?"

"My son wouldn't be here without you and your training. Speaking of," he said, hefting his fishing rod. "I think I should go find him now. Take care."

Poseidon vanished in a sea breeze, presumably headed somewhere down the beach. Chiron shook his head, astonished. He never once expected that to happen. He had trained his first heroes out of compassion; they had been mere foundlings, abandoned on his shores. He had wanted to give them a fighting chance. Training demigods had simply become a matter of course – he would not turn them away if they found him.

Chiron had known, all those years ago when he first heard of Percy Jackson that the boy's appearance would make waves. But he had never anticipated the sort of change he would bring with him.

Over thousands of years, Chiron's name had been linked to some of the most memorable heroes; he was proud of them all, and would be prouder still to be linked to Percy one day. Chiron had only been half-serious when he had first remarked that Percy could be myth one day. Now it seemed like a very real possibility.

He couldn't think of a hero more deserving.

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End Note: The first part was set around the time Sally married Gabe; I couldn't really slip that in there. I used this poem because it reminds me of Poseidon, who is present in Percy's life but mostly in the background.

Please review! I'd love to hear if you had a favorite section.


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